At that moment, the premiere was at its peak—the cast and audience were interacting with great enthusiasm, and fans who hadn't managed to squeeze up front earlier were now surging forward in waves.
Owen pushed through the crowd with some effort, making his way toward the side. At the same time, he noticed another person doing the same—a young Asian man wearing a white baseball cap. But unlike Owen, who was moving to the side, the man was pushing toward the exit, directly against the flow of the crowd, making his movement even more difficult.
Meanwhile, Julia's side was going much more smoothly. By the time Owen reached them, she had already finished hugging Amanda and Ken and was being introduced to Monica by Amanda.
"Oh, Owen, your girlfriend is gorgeous. I didn't think you had such good taste…"
Julia's compliment instantly shortened the distance between everyone. Monica, though not into celebrities, still appreciated being called beautiful—especially by someone as famous as Julia. She nodded and thanked her sincerely.
"It's been so long, Owen. I couldn't find you earlier, and I thought maybe you didn't come…"
Julia gave Owen a warm hug, which he didn't refuse. It was clear she genuinely considered him a friend. In fact, it was thanks to her that Universal had been able to contact him back when the studio first reached out.
"Oh, Julia, you look stunning tonight…"
BOOM!
A deafening explosion tore through the air, cutting Owen off mid-sentence. A wave of pressure surged through the room, slamming Owen and everyone around him to the floor.
For a moment, Owen sat on the ground, disoriented, his ears ringing violently. It lasted for several seconds before the sensation gradually faded and his hearing returned.
That's when the screaming began.
Shit! A bomb! That was a bomb!
Owen scrambled to his feet, panic surging in his chest. "Are you all okay? Is anyone hurt?!"
He quickly checked each of the people with him. Seeing they were too stunned to respond, he began physically examining them.
Julia, Amanda, and Ken were still dazed, like puppets being moved around by Owen. They nodded to his questions mechanically, then, as clarity returned, began to shake their heads.
Monica was the first to snap out of it. Once Owen saw that the three girls had no visible wounds, he finally breathed a little easier. But the cries around him and the blood splattered on the floor were jarring and sickening.
He told Monica to watch over them and began moving quickly through the auditorium.
The blast center had clearly been in the area where the crowd had been most densely packed earlier.
From that central point, the theater seats had been blown outward in all directions, some knocked completely over, others left mangled. People lay across the floor, some groaning, others completely still.
The bomb had detonated right in the thick of the crowd. Those nearest to it were either dead or seriously wounded. Ironically, because the crowd had been so tightly packed, the innermost people had absorbed most of the blast, shielding those on the outskirts.
Most people on the periphery, like Owen and his group, had escaped with minor injuries or none at all.
Who? Who planted the bomb?
The question surged into his mind. And then, suddenly, a memory surfaced—the Asian man in the white cap pushing toward the exit.
It didn't make sense. Everyone else had been trying to get closer to the stage, eager to see the stars up close. This man, at such a once-in-a-lifetime event, had been trying to leave?
That wasn't normal.
It was him. It had to be him!
Owen's instincts screamed it. That man was definitely involved—likely the one responsible for the bombing.
He turned and sprinted toward the exit, pushing people aside as he went, taking three steps at a time in pursuit of the man.
Meanwhile, the members of the press who had escaped the blast—safely located farther from the center—immediately went into predator mode. Like sharks sensing blood in the water, they realized they were in the middle of a breaking story. Cameras were turned toward the devastation, capturing the bloody scene as it unfolded.
At the theater entrance, Owen grabbed a security guard who had just arrived.
"Did you see an Asian guy wearing a white baseball cap?"
"Let me go! I need to help inside—"
The guard tried to break free, but Owen held him firmly.
"Did you see him? I'm with CTU. Did you see him?!"
The guard hesitated. Though Owen didn't have ID on him, the urgency and tone in his voice were convincing. Finally, the man stammered, "I… I didn't see anyone like that."
Owen was about to let go when a thought struck him. "Which way did you come up from?"
The guard blinked but quickly answered, "The fire stairs."
"Did you see anyone else in the stairwell?"
"No. Just us."
"How many fire exits are there here?"
As Owen asked, he was already turning toward the elevator area.
"Uh… there's only one…"
Owen released the guard and bolted toward the fire stairs. Not far away, he spotted the digital display on the elevator—floor 7.
He sprinted down the stairs as fast as he could, practically leaping rather than running, clearing entire flights in a few strides.
That guy had to be in that elevator, but it was already descending—now at the fourth floor. Owen wasn't sure if he'd catch it in time.
As he flew past a wall-mounted fire alarm, he didn't hesitate—he smashed the glass with his fist and pulled the alarm.
Instantly, sirens wailed throughout the building. The elevators froze.
In buildings like this, elevators were designed to stop and open on the nearest floor during a fire alarm, their doors locking to prevent further use and avoid secondary casualties.
It was a desperate move—but it bought Owen precious seconds.
Still sprinting down the stairs, he closed the distance fast.
On the third floor, the elevator doors finally opened. Panicked people spilled out, among them the Asian man Owen had seen.
The man didn't hesitate for even a second. He immediately dashed into the stairwell, sprinting downward. Hearing the noise above, he understood instantly—and picked up the pace.
Owen reached the third floor just as the elevator stopped. He was about to investigate when he heard unmistakable footsteps below—fast, panicked. Without wasting another second, he whirled back into the stairwell and continued the chase.
By the time Owen burst out of the stairwell onto the first floor, it was already too late.
The lobby was empty.
He charged outside, eyes scanning the area frantically. But the man had vanished.
Damn it! He kicked over a trash can in frustration.
Pulling out his phone, he called.
"Chloe—!"
"Owen? Why are you—"
"Bomb just went off. Seventh floor of the Turtemore Mall on Snow Street. Send people now."
He didn't give Chloe time for banter. On the other end, she instantly recognized the gravity of his tone.
"Got it. Seventh floor, Turtemore Mall, Snow Street. Units are on the way."
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